We flew into Denpasar and had one incredibly chaotic (and terrifying) taxi drive up to the mountains and jungles of Ubud. We were there during monsoon season, so every day it down poured like it was the end of the world. This didn’t stop us from going out and exploring though.
We were staying in a villa on a hotel property completely secluded from everything and one afternoon we decided to go for a walk along the ridge down the road from us. What started as a beautiful day quickly began to look more menacing and more dramatic. We’d walked about 15 minutes along the ridge when the wind started whipping against our faces and palm trees started bending in the wind, the jungle looming far below on either side.
Quickly heading back, we hoped we could make it to shelter before the rain started, primarily because we didn’t want to get wet but also because I was wearing flip flops (in other words the most inappropriate footwear for walking in the wilderness ever). We were about halfway back when the sky opened and rain drops the size of small bees pelted us. We walked briskly (no running because of said flip flops) and came across a school with lots of young Indonesian children who gave us shelter until the rain passed. None of them spoke English, but they all peered peculiarly at us fair-skinned folk with the light colored hair and funny accents. One of them offered me his granola bar, probably feeling sorry for my wet dog appearance.
Although we were stuck in the downpour for half an hour, I’d never seen a sky or scenery so beautiful or experienced such kinship with a group of people I’d never met, would never see again and who didn’t even share my language.
Postcard from: Hannah